Desperate Measures
by startraveller776
Summary: Regina Mills hasn't been home in ten years, but when an old acquaintance convinces her to return to Storybrooke for her wedding, Regina decides she can't come empty-handed, not when she'll be surrounded by ghosts of a life she lost when her fiancé died. (AU Outlaw Queen)


**Disclaimer: **As usual, I own nothing but my weird imagination.

**A/N:** This is a fill for _both_ the Prostitute/Client AU requested by emgee-megs and the anonymous Fake Relationship AU requests.

This might not be quite what you expected (it certainly isn't what _I_ expected—I JUST HAVE A LOT OF REGINA FEELS RIGHT NOW, OKAY!?), but I hope you enjoy it anyway! (And yes, this is _very_ _loosely_ based on "The Wedding Date.")

Sadly no Henry or Roland in this one. I loathe excluding them, but they absolutely refused to fit into this universe. :(

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><p><strong>Chapter One<br>**_The Ruse_

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><p>He's attractive; Regina will give him that.<p>

He's lean—_fit_ from the way his tailored button-down clings to his torso. (Not that it matters.) His jaw is square, if stubbled, eyes blue, and hair coiffed perfectly with a faint dusting of _almost_-grey at his temples. The two potentials she met with before were too young. She thinks she'll ask him to shave—on second thought, no. It suits him—gives him a sort of ruggedness that goes well with the jagged emotions she secretes deep below her no-nonsense demeanor.

He clears his throat and leans forward, elbows digging into his thighs. "I know you're worried that you'll be caught out—"

"I never said that," she interrupts, chin raised in defiance. She _is_ worried, but it's presumptuous of him to draw that conclusion after knowing her ten minutes.

He sucks in a breath and drops his head in deference, though there is a ghost of a smile on his lips—as if he knows better, but he won't press the issue. "Right," he says. "I only meant that this is what I do."

She snorts, raises a brow. "You mean there's more to your job than the horizontal tango?"

"With how well I get paid, one would hope," he quips, unfazed by her brusque manner. She likes this, though she would sooner pluck out an eye than admit it. "I provide an experience—for lack of a better word—for my clients. I am what they need me to be, and I'm very good at it."

He reaches for her hand, sandwiches it between both of his. His palms are calloused and she wonders briefly what he does outside of _this_ that makes them so. "I assure you, they'll see nothing but your charming new lover. No one will be the wiser."

She withdraws her hand. "We'll see." She's still skeptical, but she decides to go through with this ridiculous plan.

Because the alternative is worse: suffering through recycled condolences and the thinly-veiled hints that maybe it's been long enough, maybe it's time to move on. As if she'd only gone through a bad break-up, as if her happy ending hadn't been prematurely stolen by an undiagnosed cerebral aneurysm. As if moving on isn't a betrayal—even years later.

She passes him a thick envelope. "The agreed upon amount as well as your ticket. Don't be late."

She's halfway to the door when his soft voice stops her.

"Regina," he says, looking up at her with a gaze so kind, so full of understanding that her chest aches. "Everything will be all right, I promise."

She leaves without replying. His parting words have weight—_depth_—and they sink down to the bleak pit of grief she keeps carefully stowed away.

_Everything_ will be all right.

For the first time since Daniel's death, she thinks she might want that statement to prove true.

* * *

><p>She arrives in Storybrooke ahead of her faux beau. (Robin, that's his name. Locksley.) She walks down Main Street, soaking in the perpetual drizzle—not so different from London—and drowning in memories. This town is in her veins—as much a part of her as the color of her eyes and the slope of her nose. Though she often talked of escaping its confines, of seeing the world, she always believed she would return one day, raise her family here. Because despite her dysfunctional relationship with her mother, despite feeling excluded from her peers, this was <em>home<em>.

Not anymore.

Everything is tainted with Daniel's fingerprints, of the life they should have had, but never would. Across the street is the florist where he bought the roses he left on her back porch—away from the disproving eyes of Cora. Next to it, Standard Clocks where she had a pocket watch engraved for him. There isn't a slab of concrete, a length of siding that doesn't house the raw specters of that history. And—oh, god—it's so hard to _breathe_. She can't do this. She _can't_.

Her phone is in her hand, fingers hovering over the keypad as she thinks of a lie to tell Mary Margaret. Something work related. She'll call Robin next to cancel his services; he can keep the money.

"Doth mine eyes deceive me? Or is that Regina Mills?"

Her escape won't be that easy.

Regina sighs, slipping the phone back into her pocket and folding her growing panic into a tight ball and hiding it away. "Ruby," she says, turning to face the other woman. "You haven't changed." She hasn't. Ruby still sports waist-length dark locks streaked with red, complimented with her usual trashy chic sense of style.

"_You_ have, though," Ruby says with a grin. "You're all professional now. I love the shorter hair." She links her arm with Regina's and guides them toward the diner.

(There are too many memories here, too. Her first date with Daniel in the corner booth where they talked for hours. Their first kiss beneath the trellis in the courtyard. Why had she ever let Mary Margaret talk her into coming back?)

"When Granny said that you'd reserved a room in the B 'n B," Ruby prattles on, "I thought _no_ _way_. But here you are."

Regina gives her the best approximation of a smile she can muster. "Here I am."

"And with a hunky guy, too." Ruby waggles her eyebrows, and Regina frowns.

"What are you—?"

Ruby swings the door open to the diner, bells jingling, and there is a creak of leather as heads turn in their direction. There is no such thing as anonymity in a small town. The scrutiny unsettles her, but she straightens, lifts her chin, and pretends, like she used to, that she belongs.

"It's the Evil Queen's triumphant return!" shouts a gravelly voice from the breakfast counter. It takes a moment for Regina to recognize little Leroy. He's thicker, if not taller, and he salutes her with a glass of soda, grin stretched wide beneath a shaggy beard.

"If it isn't Grumpy," she says with a smirk. The rest of her retort dies in her throat in the following heartbeat when she sees another, unexpected man leaning against the counter. "Robin?"

"Hello, darling," he says, his tone a perfect blend of familiarity and understated affection. He's right; he's very good at his job. "I decided to surprise you and caught an earlier flight."

She doesn't like surprises—they've never been good—but she'll take this one. He crosses the room, and she tries to act as if the hug he gives her and the kiss he places on her cheek are old hat.

"I thought you might need me," he murmurs low enough that only she hears. Presumptuous again. "How are you faring?"

She gives him an honest answer; she suspects he knows the truth anyway. "I've been better."

He cups her jaw, brushes his thumb across her cheek. "We have only a few days to get through. You can do this," he reassures her quietly, and she almost leans into the caress. Because the irrevocably broken girl inside of her yearns for someone to _care_.

But this isn't real.

She whispers, "You are worth every penny, aren't you?"

His brows draw together—just a fraction—before he gives her a broad smile. "Of course." He releases her, steps back, though he's still close enough to give the illusion of a happy couple. "Evil Queen?" he asks louder.

Regina rolls her eyes as everyone talks over each other at once to recount the infamous high school production of _Snow White_. (She's intensely aware that his gaze never wavers from her despite the cacophony around them.) When Ruby makes the flippant comment that Regina had been type-casted—because she was such a, well, bitch before Daniel, the room falls silent. Robin wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her against him.

"Oh, god," Ruby says, eyes widening. "I'm so sorry. I didn't—"

"It's quite all right," Robin interrupts, his fingers curling in the fabric of Regina's blouse. "I'm not surprised to hear that my Regina has always been a firebrand." And with that simple deflection, the tension abates.

He glances down at her with a tender inquiry in his pale eyes. She gives him a small smile in return.

She can manage. Maybe.

With his help.

He understands. "I hate to cut your reunion short," he says to the rest of the group, "but I think we'd better get settled before the party."

She considers thanking him as he ushers her out of the diner, but the words never pass her lips.

* * *

><p>Before the pre-wedding celebration, they take turns in the shower to slough off the stiff joints and sour sweat of travel, if not the jet lag. She doesn't apologize for the fact that he'll be sleeping on the floor during their stay; getting separate rooms at Granny's would raise questions. He doesn't complain.<p>

She doesn't complain that he seems to have no qualms shuffling about the room half-dressed. _Looking_ is not disloyalty. She's paid for it, after all, and he _is_ as well-built as she presumed.

"Is there anything I should know?" he asks as he slides a pair of black slacks over his hips. "The sort of things that they'll expect you've shared with me?"

She considers his question, tries to imagine what she might have divulged if they were in a serious, committed relationship. But the idea of giving him as much of herself as she had given Daniel (everything) is too foreign, too _painful_—even as a ruse.

"I had a complicated relationship with my mother." She can offer him this tidbit. "And I haven't been home in ten years. You already know about my late fiancé."

Robin presses his lips together and nods. His expression is not pity, and she's grateful. Because pity in the eyes of others has always been laced with the relief that they haven't personally experienced the same loss.

"As for the rest," she says, turning back to vanity to finish applying her lipstick, "they wouldn't be surprised if I didn't tell you more than that."

In the mirror, his fingers pause over the buttons of his white shirt, brows furrowed as he stares at her for a second, two, three. He says nothing, though. What is there to say?

* * *

><p>The party is held at <em>La Tandoor<em> (an Indian restaurant; Mary Margaret has always been a little quirky). Robin grasps Regina's hand before they reach the door and pulls her aside. She thinks that perhaps he wants to get their stories straight—the saccharine questions of how they met, how long they've been dating, even what he does for a living (male escort is a little too risqué for this crowd)—but he says something else entirely.

"Regina, I want you to know—" his thumb traces a line across her knuckles, "—that I'm here for you."

She frowns. Of course he's here for her; she's given him a hefty sum to that effect.

He shakes his head with a soft laugh as if guessing her thoughts. He's entirely _too_ good at that, and she wonders if it's a side effect of his profession. "When we go inside," he says, "I'll be whomever you wish. But out here, right now, I'm merely Robin Locksley. And I'm telling you as myself—_not_ the man you hired me to be—that I am here for you in whatever capacity you need."

"Thank you." It's almost a question, trite and unequal to his declaration. Because she doesn't know how to respond to the sincerity woven in his words. It's not supposed to be like this. She's not supposed to feel like this—_vulnerable_.

"Now we've gotten that out of the way," he says, giving her a dimpled grin, "who _am_ I—at least, for their sakes?"

The corner of her mouth twitches in a near smile. She's relieved that he's dispelled the moment. "I don't know. What are you good at pretending to be?"

He raises a brow. "Corporate raider."

She gives him a dubious look. "Something tells me that you lack the killer instinct."

"Oh, you'd be surprised." He smirks, advances on her, and she refuses to retreat. "There's no better way to disarm an opponent than being quiet, thoughtful, and unexpectedly kind." He's close enough now that his breath whispers across her cheek.

"Is that so?" she replies, glad that her tone sounds skeptical despite the accelerating staccato behind her sternum.

He makes a noise of agreement. "Besides, it easily explains how our paths crossed—what, with your being an expat _corporate_ lawyer." He takes a step back. "I think six months should do it."

She blinks, mildly disoriented from his brief invasion of her personal space. "Six months?"

"Well, any less and it would seem a bit too soon to bring me home to meet your loved ones," he explains with a shrug. "Any more, and they'll wonder why they've never heard of me."

She smiles now and wonders how often he's done this role. "We don't live together," she says, deciding that she ought to have some input into their fabricated backstory.

"No, of course not," he agrees. He grasps the door handle and swings it open with a wink. "But we have begun to give cohabitation _serious_ consideration."

They're inside before she can argue, and Mary Margaret is making a beeline through the crowd toward them. Regina braces herself for the hug she doesn't want but will suffer through because the reigning princess of light and goodness and "I love everyone no matter what happened in the past" will not be denied.

"I can't tell you how happy I am that you came," Mary Margaret says after releasing Regina. "We've missed you."

Not likely, but Regina smiles anyway. "Congratulations. It's about—"

"Time?" David finishes for her as he steps up to his fiancé, draping an arm across her shoulders. "Not all of us recognize our true loves right away." He winces as soon as soon as the subliminal reference to Daniel leaves his mouth.

Regina hates the conflicting emotions his careless statement drums up. She doesn't want to be reminded of her loss at every turn, and yet, it almost hurts more when the people who knew Daniel so well try to act as if he never existed for her sake.

"I'm sorry," Robin says next to her, holding out a hand, "but we haven't been introduced. I'm Robin Locksley, the lucky sod who's managed to capture some measure of Regina's interest."

Mary Margaret raises a brow at Regina as she shakes Robin's hand. "Charming."

"Hey," David protests. "I thought that was my nickname."

"It still is." Mary Margaret rolls her eyes, though she leans her head against his shoulder. Robin answers by snaking an arm around Regina's waist, tugging her gently into his side, and she marvels at the ease of the movement. She marvels more at how it seems to steady her.

"The bride and groom to be, I presume?" Robin says. "Many happy returns."

"Thank you." Mary Margaret beams. She always beams. "And thank you if you had anything to do with talking Regina into coming."

Robin grins, and looking at Regina, says, "One is glad to be of service." Is he speaking into her? Or Mary Margaret? He turns his attention to David. "Shall we see about getting drinks for our ladies, mate? Let them catch up?"

Regina watches the two men leave. Robin says something that makes David laugh, and she's envious that the stranger she paid to accompany her is more at home here than she's ever been.

"He seems nice," Mary Margaret murmurs next to her. "I'm happy for you, Regina."

And there it is—the pity that masquerades as sympathy, _concern_, swimming in Mary Margaret's dark eyes. _I'm so sorry for your loss_ mixed with _but I'm relieved that you've finally found someone else_ because that means they no longer have to breathe in the grief that spills off of Regina whenever she's near.

She thought it would be easier this way; she was wrong.

She plays along, though. Turning back now is impossible. "Thank you."

"How did you two meet?" Mary Margaret asks.

"Yeah," Ruby interjects (when had she snuck up on them?), "because I might need to take a trip to London to find me one of those. Does he have a brother?"

Regina opens her mouth, but closes it again. She doesn't know. In fact, she knows almost nothing about him.

Mary Margaret saves her. "Ruby," she chides the other woman. "What would Victor say?"

Ruby heaves a dramatic sigh. "Oh, please. He doesn't get to say anything," she says. "Shameless flirting and three dates do not a boyfriend make."

"Victor?" Regina frowns at the unfamiliar name.

"The new doctor—Victor Whale," Mary Margaret says, and then makes a face. "Well, not exactly new. He's been here for a couple of years."

"Ah."

The silence that follows is stark with the distance and time which has widened the gap between Regina and those who once had a place in her every memory. She's a castaway, far adrift from the place that used to be her anchor. (Far adrift from the _person_ who used to be her anchor.)

"So," Mary Margaret says, drawing the word out, "how have you been?"

"Fine," Regina answers by rote. Better when there are three thousand miles between her and Storybrooke, she wants to add but doesn't.

"That's…good," Mary Margaret says at the same time Ruby replies with a snort, "More than fine, I'm betting. I mean, you're not doing _too_ bad when you get to home with that."

Robin and David have rejoined the them, and Robin passes Regina a glass of wine. "Red all right?" he asks, hand falling to rest at the small of her back.

Regina nods, leans into him, and murmurs, "Good guess."

He tilts his head toward her, his mouth crooked in a lopsided grin. "You seemed the type." He finishes with a kiss on her cheek. It's little more than a peck, but her skin prickles with a quiet flush of chills. Later she'll tell him that the public displays of affection are unnecessary. That she's never been demonstrative.

Not true—not entirely. She was with Daniel.

"Okay, let's have it," Ruby says. At Regina's cocked brow, she clarifies, "the story—_your_ story. How did you two meet? Was it love at first sight? Are there wedding bells in the future?"

Regina glances at Robin, and his expression invites her to make up whatever she wants; he'll play along. But her mind churns up nothing useful. "This party is about David and Mary Margaret," she deflects, taking a sip of her wine.

"Oh, everybody knows our story," Mary Margaret says, and David nods.

"Yeah," Leroy pipes in. He's there now along with several familiar faces. "So spill, sister."

This is the moment where it all falls apart, Regina thinks. The air in her chest turns sour when her eyes land on Emma. Emma is a few years younger—the foster child who swept into town and was embraced by this ragtag group of friends instantaneously when Regina was still only cautiously accepted after a lifetime among them. Emma, who had been in London two years ago. Who had captured Graham's interest by simply _being_.

Regina hadn't loved Graham—never would have—but he was _hers_ (as tenuous as that possession was). So few things are.

"We met through work, in fact," Robin supplies. "We sat opposite one another during a deal, and afterward I tried to hire her. I mean, who wouldn't want such a beautiful, cutthroat lawyer under their employ? She turned me down, though. What were your exact words again, darling?"

Regina quells the sudden rush of anxiety in her middle at being put on the spot. "I think I said—" she stalls for a beat, tries to imagine him as the kind of tycoon she wouldn't want to work with, "—that you were a thief masquerading as a businessman and you couldn't pay me enough to help you overthrow the stock exchange."

He laughs, delight etched in the spidery corners of his eyes. The others join him. "Yes, I remember now," he says. "I'm afraid I was a goner in that very moment. Of course, it took weeks before she agreed to have drinks with me, but I persevered."

"You were persistent," Regina adds, though the lie sounds stiff to her ears—not as natural as his contributions to their counterfeit history. She's grateful he's adept at this, even if she won't admit it to him.

Fortunately, the group seems satisfied as they redirect the conversation to the pair at the center of this celebration. Talk about David's botched first marriage arranged by his father. Memories of the epic fights between David and Mary Margaret through high school. The searing onstage kiss they shared in _Snow White_ (because _of course_ David played Prince Charming). And throughout the discussion, Regina feels the press of Emma's considering gaze. She knows more than the others, understands the truth of Regina better. She had her own Daniel in Neal, Gold's estranged son. She tried to escape her grief, too—erected the same walls around her heart.

The rest of the evening continues predictably with more drinking and more anecdotes, champagne toasts to the bride and groom. Regina is relieved when the party eventually winds down. Her cheeks are sore from feigned happiness, and when Robin whispers an offer of an early exit, she eagerly accepts.

Goodbyes said, hugs suffered through, they're outside and she feels less like she's suffocating. Robin keeps her arm hooked in his as they walk toward the bed and breakfast, even though they're alone in the darkness. She doesn't pull away, though she should. She shouldn't allow their contrived intimacy to bleed into the business side of their arrangement, but she's too tired to care. She'll clarify their boundaries tomorrow.

"That went rather well, I think," he says, keeping their pace an ambling stroll despite the soft, crisp breeze lapping at them.

"Yes," she agrees. "I take it you've had a lot of practice over the years—making up fake romances."

"Actually, no." He glances down at her. "I've always avoided jobs requesting pretend relationships in the past. They aren't really my area."

Regina frowns. "Then why—"

"Ah, here we are," he interrupts, leading her up the steps to Granny's place. "Let's try to sleep off this jetlag, shall we?"

Sleep doesn't come easily that night, though, not for Regina. She's too aware of his presence in the room as she lies in bed, too attuned to the muted, languid in and out of his breathing, and she wonders about him, how he came to be what he is.

And she worries. Because he's made this too easy somehow—not just the performance he put on for her friends, but in their private moments. He has her feeling dangerously close to _safe_. And she won't cross that fragmented bridge again. She can't. Especially not with someone she's paid to act the part of supportive sweetheart.

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><p><strong>AN:** Thank you so much for reading! (Yes, there are more chapters forthcoming.) If you have a minute, drop me a line and let me know what you think!


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